


No Good Deed

by SaltCore



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: F/F, Good Boyfriend Hanzo, Good Little Sibling Fareeha, Humor, Jesse and Fareeha are siblings fite me, Justice Siblings, Language, M/M, Secret Relationship, sick jesse mccree
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-13
Updated: 2017-08-13
Packaged: 2018-12-14 23:31:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11793720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SaltCore/pseuds/SaltCore
Summary: Fareeha has a reputation to maintain, but she can't just let Jesse suffer through a cold on whatever MREs he had in his bunk. You know what they say about good deeds, though.





	No Good Deed

**Author's Note:**

> One of my favorite headcanons is Jesse and Fareeha have that classic sibling relationship where they would suplex each other through a table for pretty much any reason, but also would roundhouse kick any motherfucker who would dare to fuck with their idiot, because that's my dickhead sibling, and only I have the right to ruin their lives. It's all very touching.

                Given that Fareeha had spent a not insignificant amount of her childhood around special forces and black ops, you’d think she’d have learned a certain amount of stealth by diffusion.

                You’d be wrong.

                Fareeha is the type of woman who straps a jet engine to her back and then, because that’s not quite loud enough, fires high-explosive ordinance from low altitude. Fareeha is the type of woman who had her car outfitted with aftermarket kits to replicate the roar of the vintage internal combustion motors. Fareeha is the type of woman who got tossed in the campus pond for playing thrash metal during study hours in college.

                Fareeha isn’t one for subtlety or sneaking around, in short. So, she’s out of her depth creeping around in any capacity, but especially loaded down with a tray and bowl of chicken noodle soup. It slops around and it’s hot and she needs to be quiet and watch where she’s going and she needs to do it all quickly. It’s a lot to keep up with. Flying the Raptora suit is leagues easier.

                By virtue of luck and careful timing, she’d managed to actually make the soup without encountering anyone else. She’s only doing it because Angie had told her Jesse had been knocked on his ass by a cold. She hadn’t said it quite like that, of course, but if Jesse had been willingly in medical, that’s how bad it must have been. So, out of familial instinct Fareeha had made chicken noodle soup the way her mother had done for Jesse (and then her) years ago. (Jesse had looked like a wet, kicked dog the first time he got really sick after his _recruitment_ , made worse by how skinny and scruffy and baby faced he was normally. Even Fareeha had felt bad for him, so it wasn’t any surprise Ana had taken it on herself to make him some familiar comfort food. Ana wasn’t much of a cook, however, so she’d opened a can and added handfuls of spices when she’d realized how bland it was, but she still sparked a tradition.) So, because Jesse is her brother in every way but blood, Fareeha is here doing the unthinkable: bringing him soup in his time of need.

                She stands beside the kitchen door, listening intently. The coast appears clear. She steps around the door and hugs the wall. She’s barefoot, because her boots squeak on the metal floors and socks slide too much for the kind of stability she needs. The smell of the soup is pungent, and if nothing else, it’ll definitely clear Jesse’s sinuses. He’d better appreciate it.

                Fareeha freezes in place when she thinks she hears voices. Oh, yeah, that’s voices. Shit. She looks around, trying to pinpoint where they’re coming from. It’s definitely Lucio and Hana. Hana is a hell of a pilot and Lucio is one of nature’s medics, not even delving into his musical talent, but they both practically shout all the time, even indoors, and they have the kinds of voices that just _carry_. Fareeha ducks into a door and leans against the wall, praying to that amorphous _thing_ out there all soldiers beseech when trying to get away with something that they don’t notice her.

                Fareeha doesn’t breathe as they approach, but she could swear her heartbeat is echoing off the walls. They’re laughing though, and that could drown out gunfire. Based on the bouncing shadows, she’d picked the right side of the door to hide in. Fareeha’s grip is steady but white knuckled on the tray as they pass her by. She doesn’t move until their voices fade into unintelligible echoes. Fareeha lets out the breath she’s holding. That was much closer than she wanted.

                Just, oh, loads of cramped hallways between her and the barracks. She’s never wished she could scramble across the outsides of buildings like Genji more than she does in this moment. He’d have been able to ferry a bowl of soup from the kitchen to barracks in a couple of minutes without spilling any. He can certainly pull off a feat like that with an open drink, because Jesse had dared him to once, and Genji doesn’t turn down a dare. It had been impressive, even if Fareeha would never admit it to his face. Her brother’s best friend is insufferable enough.

There aren’t any more close calls after that, which is good, because there’s less in the way of convenient side passages near the barracks. At 1100 they’re essentially empty. Everyone _should_ be off doing work, but, well, you never know. It’s not like Winston is a stickler about keeping everyone busy. Fareeha slinks past another door, just in case. Most of the paranoid fucks here will wake up if you breathe too hard three rooms down.

She approaches her target, a bunk door just like the others. She looks around one last time, but there’s no one. Fareeha punches in the code to Jesse’s door, the same one he’d used in Blackwatch because Jesse is a lot of things but good at passwords isn’t one of them, and it slides open.

She almost drops the tray on the floor.

Staring at her, wide eyed and pale, is Hanzo Shimada. He’s sitting propped up on pillows sideways in Jesse’s bed. Jesse is laying in his lap, bundled up in blankets. Hanzo’s hand is in Jesse’s hair. There’s an old movie playing on a tablet propped up on Jesse’s desk chair.

Hanzo opens his mouth, then closes it, then opens it again. Fareeha stares. Several thoughts vie for dominance. _Grossgrossgross. Jesse can breathe better propped up good thinking. How many fucking times has Jesse watched that movie. Seriously he’s banging Genji’s brother that’s nasty._

_Fuckfuckfuckhecaughtme._

“H’nzuh, why’d ya stop?” Jesse rasps. Hanzo resumes petting Jesse’s greasy hair while still staring at Fareeha, with—How does Jesse put it?—a deer-in-headlights expression. Fareeha is no better, gawking at them. There is no explanation for Hanzo being here, except he and Jesse have _a thing._ More importantly, however, there is no explanation for her being here with soup that isn’t her doing something nice for her brother. Imagine if anyone found out. Imagine if Genji found out. She’d never hear the end of it.

“’Reeha?” Jesse grumbles. “’S that soup?”

“The Amari special.”

“Han. Hey, Han, that’s what they call it when they upend the spice cabinet into somethin’.”

“I see,” Hanzo croaks.

“Quiet, sugar, or she’ll hear you. Yer worried ‘bout that, ‘member?”

“Can’t have that,” Fareeha says without thinking. Hanzo shoots her a black look, but it’s hard to take him seriously with a lap full of sniffling dork. (It’s hard to take him seriously, period, because he’s related to Genji and Genji willingly glows fucking neon. Fareeha vividly remembers the discussion on the merits of various shades of awful.)

                And yeah, now she won’t be able to look at Hanzo without thinking about him banging her brother, and she never, _ever_ wants to be thinking about her brother’s sex life. They’re even slated for the same op in two weeks, which, _great_. There goes that lovely professional tolerance they’d shared. Also really, what is Hanzo doing? He’s an obsessive, perfectionist freak and Jesse has spent more than one night sleeping in a dumpster, and only one time because Fareeha locked him in after he’d jumped in for Jesse Reasons.

Fareeha stops, mentally regroups, and considers her options for meeting her objective. Jesse’s room is a disaster, like usual, because Jesse’s idea of housekeeping is moving to a new safe house with only a backpack full of things he actually likes. Fear of Reyes was pretty much the only reason he’d ever seen the inside of his own closet back in the day. Fareeha shoves all the detritus on Jesse’s desk to the floor and sets the tray there. It’s what Jesse would have done. She turns to Hanzo.

“I wasn’t here.”

“Neither was I.”

“I ain’t seen shit,” Jesse adds, helpfully. Then he sneezes.

Fareeha nods. That’s settled then. She stands up a little straighter, hoping to convey _my brother’s a dick, but you better watch yourself because I’ll fucking launch you into orbit if he ever asks_ with her posture alone, and then she beats a hasty retreat.

**Author's Note:**

> Poor Hanzo, just wait till she regroups for a shovel talk.
> 
> As always, thanks for reading and feel from to hmu at https://saltytothecore.tumblr.com/

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[PODFIC] No Good Deed](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15687387) by [sksNinja](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sksNinja/pseuds/sksNinja)




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